I've seen the clouds that pass me by,
their shadows cross my lonely face,
reflections in a tearful eye,
of happiness, there is no trace.
I've seen the grave upon the hill,
the one that's been reserved for me,
it's just another space to fill,
beneath a tired maple tree.
I've known the dark-eyed creature, sleep,
that gives me dreams on which to lie,
it takes from me the hours I keep,
a better friend I cannot deny.
Tormented and sounds set free,
in the twilight of my last breath,
can I retrace my life and see,
the darkened face of my own death?
I hear the whisper in the gloom,
a hinting voice, a haunting laugh,
from the builder of my tomb,
and author of my epitaph.
Who is this stranger by my side,
that puts my life upon a shelf?
The truth is something I can't hide,
is that this stranger is myself.